


Obsession

by Korpuskat



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Big Cock, Bruises, Choking, Creampie, DFAB reader, Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Fuck Or Die, Grinding, Knifeplay, Like rly big, Marking, Michael is 6'8 and he got a big dick ok, Multiple Orgasms, Naked Female Clothed Male, Other, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Rough Sex, Scarification, Size Difference, Vaginal Sex, Virgin!Michael Myers, gender neutral reader, incestuous themes but no actual incest, light blood, possibly dubcon, violence against reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 17:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/pseuds/Korpuskat
Summary: Mistaken as Laurie Strode, Michael kidnaps you and returns you to his home where you must find a way to live through this Halloween night.





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harlequince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlequince/gifts).



The man, the _shape_ before you doesn’t move, still as death itself as he offers you something. You shake, wrapping your arms around yourself and praying to anyone or anything listening that you wouldn’t die to this madman’s knife. 

He shakes the picture- it makes you shrink back into the corner even more- demanding something of you that you can’t begin to comprehend. The emptiness of his mask’s gaze bores into you. Hesitantly, you take the photo. Your eyes flick by between the image- a little boy holding a baby- and the horrible nightmare creature before you. Why? Why you? and why this photograph of children? 

The unholy shape dressed as a man surges forward- you squeal, but he only jams his finger at the boy, smudging a bloody fingerprint across the face.

And brings the finger back to himself.

You swallow thickly, look back up to the man before you. You can’t see any semblance between the two with the man’s pale latex mask on- but the picture was clearly old, old enough for the boy to be a man now.

You quell the shaking in your voice. “That’s.... You?” You whisper, unsure how he could react. You still didn’t know what he _wanted_ -

But for all the rage and violence he had before, the man seems almost subdued- quieted by his memorial to the Myers and your presence here. 

The man reaches forward again, slower this time. One massive finger nudges at the baby in the boy’s arms- and raises it up to you.

Confusion passes your face before you can quell it, but if it insults him, he doesn’t show it. But you? You stare down at the baby in the picture again. He’s joking right? _Or deluded,_ you can’t help but think.

What’s the right move here? Do you play along as though that child is you- someone this person has clearly known for a long, long time, or do you tell the truth and risk this killer’s disappointment? 

Your hesitance is enough of an answer for him. His arms drop slowly back to his sides- a tension spreading across his shoulders. 

“W-wait…!” You start-

But you can’t finish. The shape lunges forward again, his hands grasping your upper arms like vices, imprinting thick cylindrical bruises across your skin as he drags you forward- closer and closer to him, until you are in his lap.

All you can see is the blue cloth of his jumpsuit, the coppery scent of blood fills your nose. You scream, try to hit his arms, but he doesn’t even notice-- undeterred at all as he manipulates your body, turning you around in his arms so that…

He stares down at you. The weight of his presence quiets you. The empty voids for eye holes give you no help in understanding what he could possibly want with you. He huffs, moves his gaze down to your clenched fists.

You open your hand again. It had remained clutched tight in your grasp through the struggle; the photograph is a little crumpled but still easy visible. You stare at it for a moment- and, oh. He’s holding you. Just as the boy is holding that baby. A boy and a baby- and a man obsessed with the Myers’ family fifteen years later…

Oh, gods. Could it be? 

You hold your breath, swallow your fear and hope for the best. “Michael,” -the man tenses for a moment- perhaps hoping you remembered? Did he not want to hear that name? You had to press on now-- “that isn’t me.”

The house is silent for a moment. The wind outside dying down, leaving you only with the sound of your own breathing and heartbeat pounding in your chest. The softest noise behind the latex- somewhere between an exhale and a whine-

His arms, thick as tree trunks, constrict around you, pulling you hard against his body. Panic takes you again, you flail in vain, kicking at the dirt- gasping out against the pressure on your ribcage as you try to free your arms from his grasp- to fight and kick and scream-

You writhe in his arms just as your ribs truly begins to _hurt_ , nearly popping from the pressure, before he stops. You don’t. Even without his active resistance, you can’t find the leverage to free yourself- but that won’t stop you from trying anyway.

At least, until you hear him- the muted breathing beneath the mask suddenly pronounced and heavy. You risk another look into the black space of his mask’s eye holes- and though you can’t see his expression, you have a sinking feeling-

Michael pulls you closer, no longer interested in _hurting_ you and more about… your left hip presses up against him. You flinch away, but he keeps you close- the thick length burning against you. His head drops, another heavy exhale slipping through the mask.

You don’t move. Can’t move. Was this better or worse? Your mind sluggishly considers your fate as Michael ruts like an animal against your hip, seeking out friction with only instant gratification in mind.

All at once you come back to yourself, the overwhelming realisation that some psycho was getting off on you, and yet would likely still kill you-- it’s too much. Against your will, one broken sob slips your lips. 

He doesn’t ignore it. Michael stops- mask slowly raising to look at you again, and though unreadable you know, somehow, he’s remembering that you have a body with much more _applicable_ uses.

He shoves you back, pushing you down into the dirt- one massive hand pressed into your stomach to keep you from running away as he leans over you- his body so large, it nearly blocks out the meek lighting for his shrine- to retrieve the knife he dropped. 

You cry out at the silvery blade, shove at his arm to try to wiggle free- and Michael watches you. His sightless gaze tracing over your body, stopping at the hem of your pants- tilting his head and staring down at the thin line of skin that had appeared as your shirt slipped up in the fight.

He brings the knife over. You hold your breath- hold your hands over your mouth as the sharp point slips over the skin below your navel and dips just below the hem. The metal is cold, making you want to squirm away from it- from him- all the more. 

You dared to hope he would relent, that maybe you had satisfied his curiosity enough-- or at least that he would kill you before he really _do_ anything- his hand leaves your stomach to force several fingers into the hem. His hands are so inhumanly large, the seams begin to pop as he grabs the edge and yanks on it.

When that alone doesn’t reveal you to him, he levers the knife against the cloth and yanks again- frayed edges of cloth splitting before his knife’s edge. Two, three more pulls at the whole crotch of your pants was destroyed, leaving you to shiver in fear with only your underwear to protect your modesty- and that didn’t last long.

Powerful fingers twisted into the fabric and ripped through it, the elastic hem snapping against your belly. 

Michael stared down at the juncture of your thighs, the hidden little place revealed by his brutality. He didn’t move for a long moment- was he surprised by your body? The question didn’t stay long as he lifted you, yanking the shredded remains of your pants down, tangling them around your ankles. 

The same rough hands grasped at your shirt and yanked back- pulling you off the ground as the seams around the shoulders began to split. Another yank sent your head rocking to and fro, whiplash making your senses spin. 

Another hard breath came from behind the dreaded latex- and you whined as Michael brought the knife to your chest. He rested it there for a moment, the cold flat side pressed against your flesh. Tears burned at your eyes as you silently pleaded with him to let you go.

He doesn’t.

The sharp edge severs the collar of your shirt and slices clean through the chest and belly of your shirt with ease, dissecting your clothing completely. You shiver again- the cool fall air slipping under the old house, bringing your nipples up to aching points. 

With only the hard point of the knife, Michael draws the halves of your shirt apart, revealing your body to him entirely. You can hear him breathing behind his mask again, heavy fast pants that are surely unmistakable now. Michael is still holding the knife, pressed softly just below your navel, his knuckles pale with the force around the handle. 

He drops it, lets it fall off your side and back into the dirt as he reaches to his pelvis, forcefully undoing the clasps with loud _snaps_. His hand slips between the navy fabric and withdraws-

You inhale and bite your lip. The disgusting, primal part of you clenches down at the sight. You had only thought he was large pressed against your hip, but now that you can see him he’s _huge_ , absolutely massive, even for a man as sizable as he already is. 

Michael looms over you. You kick off the remains of your pants, partially so that if you did manage to find an opening, you could run. Partially because only moment after you do, Michael’s thick hands force your legs open, revealing your sensitive, pink cunt to him. 

You whimper, press your hands harder over your mouth as his wide fingers trace over your lips, nudging at your clit briefly. He’s deliberate with each movement, but clearly inexperienced, each bump against your clit irregular and exploratory. He presses against you, seeking out your entrance- and slips in. 

You yelp beneath your hands, cutting yourself off before you can begin to moan for the sheer girth of only one of his fingers. You can’t hide the way you clench down on him, ache as he pulls away. 

You think he’ll just push into you then, now that he’s found his goal. But no, he wants to _use_ you; your entire, measly _existence_ now is at his mercy, at his will- and Michael lifts you with no sign at all your weight even registered to him. He sits back on his heels, his cock, thick and nearly weeping precum bobbing before him. 

He adjusts you, hefts on thigh over his forearm while using the other to support your upper back- like an oversized doll. Like this, your body is exposed to him, your legs spread on either side of his wide torso. You hang limply in his grasp, barely even holding onto the rough sleeves of his jumpsuit. 

He lowers you. The fat head of his cock nudges against you, pressing against your entrance for a moment- and slips away, the hot length sliding up between your lips, rubbing against your clit. You shake, your hips following him- you hate it. 

Michael huffs, dragging his cock back down and presses against you again. As he presses in you grind against him, slipping the head in. You gasp, writhe in his iron grasp, your body convulsing with the rival needs to push him out and begging, pleading, crying out for Michael to push and take and _fuck_ you.

Michael very nearly moans, the guttural rumbling deep in his chest loud and overpowering in your ears. The need is mutual- and any sense at all of mercy or hesitancy is gone. He shoves his cock deep inside you in one motion- stabbing his length inside you and tearing at your walls, jammed up against your cervix. 

You wail out, dig your fingernails into Michael’s jumpsuit as pain and pleasure dance through your body. Michael pants hard enough for you to feel the moist warmth of his breath through the mask’s thin mouth. The dripping heat of your cunt stuns him for only a minute, before he’s desperately lifting your body again- pulling against your still tender flesh- and dropping your weight back onto his cock.

You _howl_ , and Michael only takes it as encouragement- this new foreign pleasure rocking his senses and all he can do is seek it out with all the animalistic impulse he has. Without any concern for you, he fucks up into you- rough and hard, beating against your insides in a blind race for his own release-

He groans again, his body stiffening, shaking against you. His head falling forward, one cheek pressed against your head. You can _feel_ it, your body overly sensitive in the wake of its abuse. His cock twitches inside you, the tip still rubbing against your cervix, jerking against that pleasurable spot just behind your pubic bone, hot cum spilling deep inside you. You shiver, clench around him again- feel the excess of Michael’s release drip down your lowered thigh. 

You sigh, nearly melt with relief into Michael’s arms. You relaxed, let the strangely _full_ sensation of your pelvis radiate through your body. You fought the desire to touch your belly, to see if you could feel him and his inhuman girth and length inside you. It was over, one way or another. He’d either let you go or… your head lolls in his grasp. You don’t think you could fight him if he did plan to kill you. All there was to do now was wait for his cock to soften or for him to remove himself. 

But it doesn’t happen. Your cunt remains stretched, stuffed full of Michael’s length even as the seconds pass to a minute, then two. You dare to open your eyes. He hasn’t yet moved, his massive body still curled over yours- so all you can really see are his broad shoulders and how his chest heaves.

He must sense that you’re recovering. He sits upright again, towering over you- still panting beneath his mask. You try to meet his eyes through the inky void of the eyeholes again, try to see any trace at all of humanity left in him, but you find nothing. He doesn’t move, just watches your naked form shiver in his arms.

You lick your lips. You have to try. “Please,” You don’t recognize your own voice, hoarse and quiet in your throat. “Please,”

You don’t know what you’re begging for. For him to end this already? For him to let you live? 

The white mask says nothing, reveals nothing- his only response the slow tipping of his head. As though he’s thinking, contemplating his answer. 

His neck straights up again. Before you can worry- the hand that had been holding your back upright lets go, comes around to your chest to push you down into the dirt- your hips still lodged up on Michael’s lap, the position bending you backwards. You cry out- unsure what he was going to do.

His hips roll forward, sloppy and unpracticed, but thrusting back into you all the same. You shake your head, try to fight your way back up- 

He slams you back into the dirt, tipping forward to press his weight onto you, keeping you beneath him.

He thrusts again; it makes you whine. The angle is different now- his thick cock spearing against the sensitive patch of flesh on your front wall. This time, he doesn’t slam his way in, brutally taking what he needed- no, this time he’s slow. Deliberate. He knows.

Your hips shake, legs twitching around him before pressing up against his sides for any kind of support. He’s nearly gentle, trying to find what he needs to do _exactly_. You moan this time, clench unwillingly against him, feel the delirious size of him moving within you, demanding your attention. 

He’s found what he was looking for. His thrusts come faster again, rough and demanding- using his cock like a weapon against you, stabbing at that spot over and over until you’re dizzy with desire, singing his praises with broken, staccato moans. 

He knows you won’t try to fight back now. The hand that had been holding you down slides up to your throat. You can feel where his fingers overlap at the nape of your neck. Fingers so large he could crush you with ease. You clench up in terror- or was it arousal?- but can’t stop how your hips move in rhythm with his. He leans over you, brings his weight onto the arm around your neck. 

You sputter, gasp weakly through your mouth as you feel the heat and pressure build in you. You don’t want to pass out before you can cum one last time- the best of your life, wrapped tight around a thick cock. You do your best to whine, to beg for him to let you finish.

You don’t think he cares. It’s only ever was he wants, what Michael desires. You’ll only cum if he wants you to. He knows enough.

The hand that had held your thighs open slips up to your hip. It’s so massive his thumb can reach your clit while still holding you in place- forcing you to meet each of his brutal thrusts, each powerful drive of his hips while his thumb works quick circles against your sensitive, neglected clit.

That’s all it takes. 

You shake your head violently, grab at his arm as spots dance before your eyes- the edges of the room fading in and out as hot, unbridled bliss scorches every nerve in your body- whites out everything but the pulsing, aching, pleasure that pours from your stretched out cunt. 

The tight clenches of your orgasm drive MIchael’s need back to himself- returning to that pulverizing, racing pace as he chases his own end again. You’re too gone to care, just hanging limply over his lap as he fucks you hard- another choked-off groan escaping from his mask as he stutters. Another load of hot cum flows into you, filling you and pushing even more out across your thighs and into Michael’s lap.

You cry. Hot tears roll down your cheeks, stifled sobs caught in your chest- not quite able to slip through Michael’s tight grasp.Then, nothing can slip through- his hand constricting around your throat.

You arms can barely lift high enough to slap at him, weak bats that he ignores- darkness begins to take the corners of your vision. The black, empty voids of his eyes directly over you, watching you as you choke, fight for each breath- 

The knife glints before you- raised in Michael’s hand. The hypoxia makes you too weak to even resist. You lay there, semiconscious as the blade meets your skin, slicing into your chest without you even being able to scream.

 

 

You don’t know where you are when you wake- someone’s house, you think. Old and decrepit. How long had you been out? You didn’t even expect to wake. You touch your neck gently-- the warmth there tells you that bruises had already begun to form. But only bruises, no crushed bones or more serious injuries. Michael had killed more than a few people in the night, you hadn’t expected to be shown any mercy once he’d had his fun with you. 

Oh, god. You look through the room- but he’s not there. Gone, for now. Considering he’d taken the time to take you somewhere else, you doubted he would be gone long. You needed to get out of here. You sat up- 

And doubled over.

Your whole body screams, the deep lingering pain of a bruised cervix and your overwrought walls, too sore from Michael’s assault. But that wasn’t it-- your chest burned. The knife. Your fingers touch the skin there- feel the crackling dried blood across your skin and the puckered edges of a heavy scab. 

A mirror sat in the corner of the room.

You stumble off whatever Michael had laid you on, landing heavily on the floor. You groan softly, pushing yourself up and barely crawling to the dusty, ancient glass. You rub it just enough to see your reflection-

A chill runs down your spine. More tears gather in your eyes. This would never be over, that was the truth, wasn’t it? He’d seen something in you. Your fingers press against the scabs-

Footsteps. You look towards the doorway but already know he’s there. Watching you, how the horror and dread slips across your face, how you touch his mark to your chest. 

He steps into the room as you trace over the letters again-

‘M I N E’

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the scene near the end of the 2007 remake (yes i know). RZ's remake might not have anything on the original, but seeing Michael on his knees and silently pleading with Laurie just did things to me.
> 
> I didn't really intend for this to be read as incestuous in any manner (he only gets hard after he realizes you're _not_ Laurie), but I tagged it as themes just to be safe. 
> 
> Also, Michael? he got a big dick ok.
> 
> {[My Writing Blog](https://korpuskat.tumblr.com) | [Commission Info](https://korpuskat.tumblr.com/commissions)}


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